If no one else has already claimed it, I’d like to recommend Mother’s Day as being the most important day of the year for Women’s Health bloggers. There may be an argument that Women’s Health is unrelated to Mother’s Day, but I don’t think you’d win it. Therefore, in the absence of a counterargument, I officially proclaim Mother’s Day as a national holiday recognizing Women’s Health.

Today I celebrated Mother’s Day by taking my daughter Sarah, her mother and my beautiful wife Diane, and her 91 year old grandmother Madelyn to brunch at Langdon’s. We talked about Madelyn’s mother Madeline; Diane’s grandmother, Sarah’s great grandmother. These women represent an arc of time and everything that has been accomplished by Madelyn, Diane and will be accomplished by Sarah, good and bad, can be linearly traced back to Madeline and the mothers and grandmothers before her. This line of magnificent women are responsible, and will be responsible, for millions and millions of small ripples, eddies and slipstreams in the river of life.

I think of my mother today, Marjorie Grace Beemer Newman. A tiny but tough woman who grew up on a farm in Iowa, went to Washington, D.C. to fight a World War, beat cancer three times and raised three sons and a daughter on army bases across the world; frequently alone as my father defended the country in 3 wars.  None of us understood her, and sibling opinions range from “saint” to “witch.” At the end of the day though, she raised 3 doctors and a social worker. The tracks that we have left, good and bad, can all be tracked back to Marjorie’s nest.

Thinking about my mother today, memories fly into and out of my head. I remember the time she caught me in my room awake, after lights out, writing 200 times a ridiculous sentence about coming “in” the “out” door for my 7^th grade teacher. She wadded up my 50 or so efforts and turned off my lights. She drove me to school the next morning and confronted the middle school Neo-Nazi assistant principal Vonn Boozer. I don’t know what happened behind those closed doors, but my door usage was never discussed again.

I remember her beating my ass for throwing a basket of green beans from our garden in the trash that she’d picked and I didn’t feel like snapping. I remember her drawing of what she called the Newman Family compound. It consisted of four houses surrounding our backyard pool and garden where all the children would live with their spouses. We all thought it was hilarious. Mom was legitimately surprised at our reaction.

I remember the first time she met my then girlfriend Diane in college, she was very pleased to discover that she was wearing panty hose. One Christmas morning during medical school our doorbell rang and a poor guy from Kraft Foods was standing there with a case of Old English Cheese Spread. Marjorie Grace had written an incendiary letter to corporate HQ alerting them to the fact that none of the stores in her small town carried that product any more. Her son was coming home after a difficult first semester of medical school and would be disappointed if she couldn’t make his favorite cheese squares.

I remember my mother telling the hospice nurse to chill about the fact that she was smoking while on nasal oxygen. “Oxygen’s never hurt me, it’s not going to hurt you.” I remember the things I did that she spanked me for and the things she inexplicably supported. She’s been gone for many years but I still find myself making decisions because I think it would make my mother proud.

Point being, those feelings are not unique. Mother’s give us life and nourish us. They give us the values needed to survive in a complicated world. They provide comfort and refuge when that world turns nasty and hostile. They provide love and support with no pre-requisites or requirements. Even in their flaws, they teach us and guide us long after they’re gone.

Most have heard of the “butterfly effect.” When a butterfly beats its wings on the African savannah it creates a miniscule breeze that is propagated across the hot dessert and across the Atlantic till it reaches Charleston harbor as Hurricane Hugo. Mothers are the same. Small phrases, gestures, thoughts or actions magnified across time resulting in the worldly forces we all believe ourselves to be.

My father was a medic in World War II and rarely spoke of it. On the rare occasion that he did, he told me that wounded and dying soldiers, laying in the snow in the frozen woods of Belgium, would call out for their mothers before they passed.  Mothers should not be honored only on that worst day of your life or on just a single designated day each year. The importance of motherhood deserves attention and celebration every day.

I am proud to be an Obstetrician and Gynecologist. A part of that pride is in helping thousands of women enter motherhood and helping thousands more be healthier mothers. I don’t think I believe in callings, but I’m really glad this is what I do. My wish is for mothers to receive more respect year round and not just on a single day. It is with that thought that the link is established between Mother’s Day and Women’s Health.

MUSC is planning a new Women’s and Children’s Hospital to open in 2019. The progress towards realizing that goal is tied, as most things are, to successful fund raising. The search continues for a major donor who would receive naming rights to the new Women’s Hospital. Don’t wait for a personal or professional tragedy to then remember your mother. Think of her today and every day.

Think of how incredible it would be, how much of a statement it would be, how appropriate it would be to see your name associated with the Women’s Health care future of Charleston, the Low Country and the state of South Carolina.

Although I have worked at MUSC for 30 years as a member of the Ob-Gyn department, the thoughts expressed in this blog represent my own opinions and not necessarily those of my employer.

The following video clip has nothing to do with Women’s Health or Mother’s Day, but I did hear this while working on my post. Pink Cadillac was a great Springsteen show closer throughout the Born in the USA tour but never made it to an album. A classic.